


Mamihlapinatapai

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark fic, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of hell, No Sex, not really - Freeform, referenced violent sex, torture memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Noun: A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mamihlapinatapai

 

 

Sometimes the worst part of hell wasn’t the pain.

Which, to be clear, was unbearable.

But sometimes, not the worst.

Sometimes the worst part was the things that hell made him _remember._

Sometimes it’d be just the two of them and the radio, cruising down the open highway, and Dean would glance over at his brother and remember.

Sam was the best fuck he’d ever hand, hands down, bar none.

And maybe it was just the way food tasted better when you were starving.

Maybe sex was better when you’d felt nothing but agony for months.

Looking over at Sam, Dean knew what it would feel like to fuck that sassy mouth.

He knew what Sam would look like, bent over the trunk of the impala, his pants around his ankles, begging to be filled. And Dean knew what it would be like to oblige him, that sweet tight heat, and the way Sam would breathe hard and ragged as he took it.

Sometimes, lying awake at night in motel rooms lit by the sporadic light of passing headlights, Dean would look at Sam’s face and know he could do it. That it was within his power to pin Sam to the bed and just _take_ him, rough and dirty. And he knew he’d love it.

And sometimes, when he sat on the edge of his own bed and looked at the sheets tangled around his little brother’s body, he’d work out a strategy, feel the adrenaline rising in his body as he imagined the struggle, the fight, the eventual victory. He’d sit there feeling his cock harden until he knew he either needed to do it or go whack off in the little motel bathroom before his fucking dick exploded.

 _Months_ after he got out of the pit, he hadn’t been with a woman, because he got his rocks off to the thought of raping his little brother.

 _That_ was the worst part of hell.  

 

 

It got better, when Sam lost his soul. It got better, and it got worse.

It got better because the guilt lessened, just a little, because this wasn’t Sammy. Whatever it was, walking around inside Sam’s body, it wasn’t Dean’s brother.

That made it a little better.

They’d been on the road about two weeks, Dean driving, not-Sam in the passenger seat because hell if Dean was letting him drive the car.

It was muggy and they'd had the windows down as they drove, and Sam had opened the top three buttons on his shirt and Dean couldn’t stop looking over. He knew what Sam’s skin would taste like, the hot-salt taste of the sweat that gathered along his clavicle, and he couldn’t stop looking.

They passed probably fifty miles that way until Sam finally heaved a deep breath and asked “are we going to fuck, or what?”

And it made it worse, because god help him, he had to _think_ about it.  

Eventually, not-Sam had shrugged and looked away.

“Offer’s on the table,” he’d said, and Dean had been silent.

 

 

Sam remembered that conversation. The memories came back to him, flooding back in with the memories of the cage, and all Lucifer’s tortures.

He remembered them, Dean knew. He could tell.

He could tell by the way Sam looked at him sometimes, when he thought Dean wasn’t paying attention.

That broken, twisted look.

Dean knew it, because he’d seen it on his own face. It was the look he caught in the bathroom mirror, right before he shot his load across the sink with Sammy’s name silent on his lips.

So Sam remembered. And _what_ Sam remembered, he might never say. But he remembered.

 

 

The conversation, like so many others, began with whiskey.

Whiskey made Sam melancholy and Dean didn’t like it, but Sam was determined.

He’d almost died, Sam said, and Dean felt a momentary twinge of guilt over their last drinking bout. He’d passed out and Sam had wandered off and gotten hit by a car.

So he shut up and let Sam drink his damn whiskey.

Only the more he drank it, the more he looked at Dean, and it seemed like maybe his melancholy was a little deeper than usual.

So Dean took a drag out of the bottle and ignored Sam’s bitchface and asked, “so what did you do to me.”

And Sam blinked, like he was genuinely surprised by the question, and he stammered that he didn’t understand the question.

“Yeah you do,” Dean said. “In hell. What did you do to me.”

Sam reached for the bottle, making a ‘gimme’ gesture with his hand, and this time his drag was right out of the bottle too.

“Why do you think you were there,” Sam said, and Dean laughed at that one. Of course he’d been there.

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Sam said, and Dean said sure he did.

Sam looked at him and said, “nothing.” And Dean said “bullshit.”

“What did you do to _me,”_ Sam asked, and Dean didn’t answer, because he’d asked first.

Sam gave him a long look.

“Lots of things,” Sam said finally. “Some bad. Some… not so bad, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

Sam looked sideways at him.

“I was the good part, wasn’t I.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. He wasn’t looking at Sam.

“You get to where you like something awful.”

“Look forward to it, even.”

Dean raised his glass, looking over the rim with more nonchalance than he felt.

“Even miss it a little. Sometimes.”

Sam didn’t look away. Dean downed his drink.

“You look at me sometimes,” Sam said, and Dean remembered what he’d said while he was soulless.

“Yeah.”

“And I think maybe you’re thinkin’ of something.”

“Cuz you know that look. Cuz you’ve got it now, too.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He licked his lips. “Yeah, I think maybe I do.”

“So what’d you do to me. In hell.”

“Nothin’.”

“Bull.”

“You’d do it to me,” Sam said, and a memory flickered past his eyes as Dean watched. “And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

Dean swallowed hard.

He remembered that. From hell. Being driven so crazy by the feel of something soft, something that wasn’t blades and blood and pain-

He reached across the table, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s shirt and pulling him close. He leaned in, speaking into Sam’s ear.

“Is that what does it for you? When you can’t make it stop?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was rough. “If it’s you.”  

“You don’t know the things I’m gonna do to you, Sammy.”

Sam paused.

“Yeah, I do.”

 

 

It wasn’t a real expression- not really. There wasn’t an emotion behind it. Not a real one.

Sometimes they’d be doing an interview and a pair of lovers would catch each other’s eyes and there would be something in the air between them- love, or excitement, or lust. Something real. Something the brothers recognized and could relate to- felt themselves, even, sometimes.

This wasn’t that.

Every so often the two of them would look at each other and they’d see that expression, see that look, and it would pass between them and be gone in a second, leaving observers confused and maybe a little scared. Because what had passed between the two of them wasn’t anything that two people should share.

Not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a kinkmeme prompt. 
> 
> The prompt goes like this: 
> 
>  
> 
> Dean never even thought about his brother sexually until he went to Hell. What they put him through down there twisted him in ways he never thought possible. When he came back, it was all he could do some nights to keep himself from holding Sam down and taking him, regardless of how his brother felt.
> 
> Then Sam went to hell, and came back with that same twisted look to his face, and all bets were off. 
> 
>  
> 
> I copied and pasted this prompt into a word document.  
> And then I [had an accident.](http://hazeldomain.tumblr.com/post/148698930491/oh-my-god-okay-so-im-on-chat-support-with)
> 
> If any of you need me, I shal be beginning a new life in a foreign country where no one knows me.


End file.
